Chapter 22
I'm shaking by the time I finish telling the story, whereas Steve has gone completely still. His eyes are calm, unreadable, and I fight against the urge to cross my fingers and beg him to believe me. He doesn't speak for a long time after I stop talking, and the knot in my stomach tightens.
"He knew about it?" he asks finally, his voice even.
"I don't think he knew how bad it got, but he did know that Johan was hitting me," I answer, feeling a little bit like a suspect being questioned.
"He knew about it, and he even encouraged you to take it, to put up with it," he states, an angry edge sharpening his cool tone. "He allowed you to be hurt."
He believes me, I notice with a wave of relief. He's livid, but the emotion is controlled, only evident by the fire burning in his normally friendly eyes. "That's why you asked if he knew about the investigation. Are you afraid of what he could do to you?"
I shrug one shoulder, "It's my word against one of hockey's legends. He doesn't need to do anything to me personally, physically. Just bringing it up could ruin my career if he pulls the right strings." I slump helplessly, and his arm wraps tight around my shoulders.
"We will fix this, I promise you, Andy," he nods, ending the conversation, and as we walk into the dining room of the restaurant, I feel more relaxed.
Steve believes me. Alone, I don't have the power to go against Mario. But I have Steve Yzerman on my side now. Steve does have the power to go against Mario.
I slip next to Curtis in the booth, and he discreetly reaches over to squeeze my hand. "How was it?" he asks quietly.
"Better," I say, and I truly believe it. For the time being, I'm okay.
The following week, we play a few games against Eastern Conference teams. Fortunately, Pittsburgh isn't one of them. Steve and I meet with the NHL officials again, telling them the story that I've now had to recount three times. They don't say much, they only tell us that they're speaking with Jason Woolley as a possible informant, for lack of a better word. Since it's his second time as a Penguin, they assume that he may have noticed something his first time with the team. We decide to meet again in a few weeks to see what information is uncovered.
The first game of the trip is in Toronto, and early in the day, after our morning skate, Curtis surprises me by taking me to see his off-season home. After touring the rooms and the backyard, we stand quietly on the deck. It's just starting to snow, and I find myself transfixed by the slow, easy descent of the flakes.
"You know, Andy..." Curtis says softly, breaking the silence. "I know you have a place up in Canmore and all. But, I don't know, if you wanted to, you could stay here for part of the summer..."
I bit the inside of my lip, glancing shyly at him. "Really? You...you want me to stay with you?"
He steps closer, sliding one hand to my waist, the other one up to cradle my cheek, "I would love it if I could spend all summer with you." He leans down and kisses me, a feather-light touch of his mouth on mine.
I slip my arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. "I love you," I whisper, and his eyes go wide. It's the first time I've said the words, though I suspect he's known I feel this way for a few weeks. Since the night in the car when he held me. Since the morning when he was crying for me, for what Johan did to me. Every time he's held my hand and told me I had a great game, even if I've done nothing spectacular.
He's different from Johan in every way. Though change isn't always a bad thing; it seems that with every day, things get better, and I'm a step further from the fear and the weakness in Pittsburgh, and one step closer to being strong.
But progress always has an occasional setback.
